Shitty post about a show.
I was going to post this yesterday, but.... I was too concerned with Myanmar and Greenland.
So instead you get it now.
M had worked since 6:30 that morning, and was therefore quite tired by the time 7:30 had rolled around that evening. She and I were both rather hungry, so we stopped for food at a local diner. The place was just bordering on 'too small to be a greasy spoon' and 'too big to be a fast food joint'. The red laminate tables gleamed against the white porcelain tile walls and counters. Bar stools lined the counter, and an ass was in every seat. I didn't think this place was normally that busy. There was an event nearby this evening, and so the place was unusually busy.
Above the counter and kitchen (if you could call it that) hung posters of various musicals. Les Miserables, Hello Dolly, Little Shop of Horrors, Cabaret, Can Can, and our personal favorite, Titanic: the musical. I reeled as M commented how in ten years there would be 9/11: the musical. I would be so excited. Think of the whole line of shows, they could all have the same cast and producers, Earthquake: the musical, Chicago Fire: the musical, Fallujah: the musical. You know, a review style show, people dancing and singing, jubilant at their own eminent doom and destruction, flayed flesh flying around on stage(fake of course, they would use scrap meat from the yards), and at the end, all the characters, alive, dead and horrible mangled would get up in a kick line and send the audience into cheers as they recap the themes of the show in harmonic unison. Beautiful. They would be better than "Cats" and people would see them again and again, all would get Tony noms and the primary cast members would go on to have incredible careers in that daytime drama show about love and deceit.
So we finished our food and walked over to this event. Walking into the venue we both felt great that for the first time in a while, we were not the oldest people at the show, as the opposite had been the prevailing trend at the last few concerts we had attended. This helped alleviate some of the stress of the day and of being in such a large crowd. It was sold out. The place was going to be at capacity. This isn't a hot prospect. The lavish decor and overall mood of the place set a different tone, all stone and tile, rich in color and design. More classic than modern, and warm. Deep, dark greens accenting cream with a hint of red. The main stairway opened up to the ballroom upstairs. And approaching the bar upstairs, we both were amazed at the view in front of us.
We were a little late. It was close to 8:30, but the place was already packed. A virtual sea of nearly 4000 people had gathered on the main floor. We stood at the bar in the back, ordering drinks and tried to sift our way around. Focused in the center on the opposite end of the building was the stage. The roof arched overhead like an airplane hanger. It was entirely massive and comfortable at once. We were on the main floor. 15' pillars flowed into arches that lined a threshold from the main hall to the main floor. Around the edges were various staircases and bars set up.
M and I walked around the side of the floor to another bar. Once there, we strafed sideways through one of the arches, nearly tripping on the one step down onto the floor. We were at that instant, in the sea. Looking around provided an incredible view of the lush recreation of a medieval court. The mock stonework and towers lined the upper deck, supported by the pillars and archways. Right there, standing in the middle of this, looking around at this magnificent interior architecture, the lights dimmed out. The crowd screamed in anticipation. The lights on stage blasted on, pointed almost directly at the audience. It was blinding, the guitars and bass and drums blasted a wonderful cacophony into our ears. The entire crowd, bouncing and staring into the purple, white and green hues.
The music penetrated my ribcage, a debaser of my biology, I could feel my organs rearranging themselves. It was damn near ritualistic, the throbbing crowd, fixated on the blinding lights and the creators of this sound. The clash of near metal licks and poetic verse. I wasn't drunk, but more incensed at the whole affair.
The room was gigantic, packed with warm fresh bodies. A plethora of young minds, warped by a wave of mutilation projected at them by the array of speakers. Overwhelming, pulsating, random and gorgeous. The dizzying array of noise, heat and light made me ask myself, "Where is my mind?"
By the end, the bright white lights flashed and beat the crowd into a near epileptic throb. We had made our way up to the second level and looked out over the crowd, in flashes, disappearing into the white.
At the end of it all the Pixies left the stage, having thoroughly rocked the shit out of us. M and I, as satisfied as a couple of sex addicts leaving an orgy, walked home. It was time to pass the fuck out. I don't know if anything I could write could do it justice. But I had to give you just a sense of what it was like. I don't think I did that good of a job.
So instead you get it now.
M had worked since 6:30 that morning, and was therefore quite tired by the time 7:30 had rolled around that evening. She and I were both rather hungry, so we stopped for food at a local diner. The place was just bordering on 'too small to be a greasy spoon' and 'too big to be a fast food joint'. The red laminate tables gleamed against the white porcelain tile walls and counters. Bar stools lined the counter, and an ass was in every seat. I didn't think this place was normally that busy. There was an event nearby this evening, and so the place was unusually busy.
Above the counter and kitchen (if you could call it that) hung posters of various musicals. Les Miserables, Hello Dolly, Little Shop of Horrors, Cabaret, Can Can, and our personal favorite, Titanic: the musical. I reeled as M commented how in ten years there would be 9/11: the musical. I would be so excited. Think of the whole line of shows, they could all have the same cast and producers, Earthquake: the musical, Chicago Fire: the musical, Fallujah: the musical. You know, a review style show, people dancing and singing, jubilant at their own eminent doom and destruction, flayed flesh flying around on stage(fake of course, they would use scrap meat from the yards), and at the end, all the characters, alive, dead and horrible mangled would get up in a kick line and send the audience into cheers as they recap the themes of the show in harmonic unison. Beautiful. They would be better than "Cats" and people would see them again and again, all would get Tony noms and the primary cast members would go on to have incredible careers in that daytime drama show about love and deceit.
So we finished our food and walked over to this event. Walking into the venue we both felt great that for the first time in a while, we were not the oldest people at the show, as the opposite had been the prevailing trend at the last few concerts we had attended. This helped alleviate some of the stress of the day and of being in such a large crowd. It was sold out. The place was going to be at capacity. This isn't a hot prospect. The lavish decor and overall mood of the place set a different tone, all stone and tile, rich in color and design. More classic than modern, and warm. Deep, dark greens accenting cream with a hint of red. The main stairway opened up to the ballroom upstairs. And approaching the bar upstairs, we both were amazed at the view in front of us.
We were a little late. It was close to 8:30, but the place was already packed. A virtual sea of nearly 4000 people had gathered on the main floor. We stood at the bar in the back, ordering drinks and tried to sift our way around. Focused in the center on the opposite end of the building was the stage. The roof arched overhead like an airplane hanger. It was entirely massive and comfortable at once. We were on the main floor. 15' pillars flowed into arches that lined a threshold from the main hall to the main floor. Around the edges were various staircases and bars set up.
M and I walked around the side of the floor to another bar. Once there, we strafed sideways through one of the arches, nearly tripping on the one step down onto the floor. We were at that instant, in the sea. Looking around provided an incredible view of the lush recreation of a medieval court. The mock stonework and towers lined the upper deck, supported by the pillars and archways. Right there, standing in the middle of this, looking around at this magnificent interior architecture, the lights dimmed out. The crowd screamed in anticipation. The lights on stage blasted on, pointed almost directly at the audience. It was blinding, the guitars and bass and drums blasted a wonderful cacophony into our ears. The entire crowd, bouncing and staring into the purple, white and green hues.
The music penetrated my ribcage, a debaser of my biology, I could feel my organs rearranging themselves. It was damn near ritualistic, the throbbing crowd, fixated on the blinding lights and the creators of this sound. The clash of near metal licks and poetic verse. I wasn't drunk, but more incensed at the whole affair.
The room was gigantic, packed with warm fresh bodies. A plethora of young minds, warped by a wave of mutilation projected at them by the array of speakers. Overwhelming, pulsating, random and gorgeous. The dizzying array of noise, heat and light made me ask myself, "Where is my mind?"
By the end, the bright white lights flashed and beat the crowd into a near epileptic throb. We had made our way up to the second level and looked out over the crowd, in flashes, disappearing into the white.
At the end of it all the Pixies left the stage, having thoroughly rocked the shit out of us. M and I, as satisfied as a couple of sex addicts leaving an orgy, walked home. It was time to pass the fuck out. I don't know if anything I could write could do it justice. But I had to give you just a sense of what it was like. I don't think I did that good of a job.